


The P-Word

by compo67



Series: Punzel Verse [32]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Childhood, Established Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Established Relationship, Family, Family Feels, Gender Issues, Kid Fic, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Protective Jensen Ackles, Tenderness, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 20:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: The D-word was inevitable.Since the day of their birth, Jensen and Jared held onto a tiny hope that the kids would never utter that ten-letter word. The last of that hope dies a cruel death two Tuesdays before Christmas.





	The P-Word

**Author's Note:**

> [The poem here is The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer]

 

The D-word was inevitable.

Since the day of their birth, Jensen and Jared held onto a tiny hope that the kids would never utter that ten-letter word. The last of that hope dies a cruel death two Tuesdays before Christmas.

At five in the morning, before sunrise, three six year olds launch themselves directly onto daddy and mommy, without any regard towards their internal organs. Three sets of elbows, hands, and feet land at full impact without much warning, except for a collective shriek.

“DISNEYLAND!”

Buried under blankets and pillows, Jensen searches for Jared in the wreckage of their morning. Someone’s foot digs into Jensen’s ribs, while someone else’s palm smash against his face.

“WE WANNA GO TO DISNEYLAND!”

“Stop!” Jared cries out, the first responder. “Ow! Don’t pull my hair!”

The best out of her siblings at balance and vocal talent, Kaylee jumps up and down in the tiny amount of space between her parents. “I WANNA BUILD A SNOOOOWMAAAAN!”

“ARIEL!” Hailey latches onto Jensen’s leg. “DADDY, ARIEL!”

Children live in the moment. There is no past or future--everything is _now_.

Jensen tosses off the blankets, sits up, and aggressively scrubs at his face. Fumbling, he turns on the lamp, on his side of the bed. He prepares the most epic lecture to have ever existed and opens his mouth to start--when Bailey climbs into his lap and curls up against him.

“Buddy?” Running a hand through Bailey’s hair, Jensen switches gears on a dime. “Hey, what’s going on? You okay?”

Jared focuses all his energy into wrangling the girls, drawing the storm away from their brother. Bailey had been shouting for Disneyland in the beginning. Maybe one of the girls knocked him in the face? Or he feels dizzy from jumping on the bed? Are the tell-tale signs of impending vomit apparent? Fever? Rash? Broken bone?

Bailey says and does nothing in response to Jensen’s questions. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Jensen’s chest.

With all the unspoken language of a parent to three kids under the age of seven, Jensen glances over at Jared to convey his concern without alarming the girls or putting Bailey on the spot. Jared nods and ushers the girls into the hallway, towards their room, muttering, “I love my kids, I love my kids…”

Jensen worked a ten hour shift at UPS yesterday afternoon and evening, right after working four hours in the morning at the garden to install a new set of benches for visitors. Later this week, they’re expecting a local artist to debut a few watercolor works created of the garden and Ken understandably wants everything perfect.

However, perfection and loading, sorting, and unloading boxes at UPS two weeks before Christmas, takes its toll on Jensen’s mood and tolerance for being body slammed at five in the morning. Still, he manages to dig up a cheerful tone of voice for the little one in his arms. Joints and bones creaking, muscles sore, he holds Bailey and walks around the room.

“Hey, Bay Leaf,” Jensen murmurs, rubbing circles on Bailey’s back. “Do you not feel so good?”

Bailey shakes his head no. His fingers grip onto Jensen’s t-shirt.

“That’s okay. We can talk about it when you’re ready.” This is a lie. Jensen is anything but okay with not knowing the problem. He’s wanted to know the source of Bailey’s outbursts since they started happening--either outbursts of sudden silence or unexplained tantrums for no obvious reason.

Lying seems to be a necessary part of parenting.

“I wonder if you might need some cocoa and a cookie,” Jensen continues, using the phrasing Misha taught him from a parenting podcast. He eyes the robe resting on what used to be Jared’s nursing chair in the corner of their room. It’s possible to put the kettle on with the use of one hand. And there’s that package of cookies from the bakery on the boulevard that just opened up. Jeff brought them over after drag rehearsal two days ago. The fact that there are still some left is nothing short of a miracle in this house.

Without a response from Bailey, Jensen keeps walking.

“You know,” he muses, “I used to do this when you were a baby. You’d wake up and sooner or later, it’d be my turn to try and get you back to sleep.”

No reply. Jensen soldiers on.

“I used to do this a lot for mommy, too. When we were first getting to know each other.” Who the hell gave his heart permission to squeeze, and his breath to catch, whenever he thinks of the early days? Is he that tired? His body hurts and he aches to know the problem, fix it, and banish it from ever causing Bailey an ounce of discomfort.

What could it be?

If another kid gave him any hint of trouble at school, the girls would have sounded the alarm. Even if Bailey had asked them not to tell, neither of his sisters can keep a secret. A teacher would have called, emailed, sent a letter, or pulled one of them aside at conferences or events.

Right?

“Mommy and I would sleep over at your Uncle Tristan’s place. Mommy would be on the couch and I would try to sleep on the floor.”

Tristan came over for dinner two days ago. Bailey held back, but the girls immediately swamped him. It helped that Tristan brought over four different flavors of ice cream: cinnamon roll, M&Ms, blackberry pie, and chocolate chip cookie dough. Eventually, with Jared’s help, Bailey accepted a bowl of blackberry pie ice cream from Tristan.

Incorporating Tristan into their fold has been exactly like that--gradual.

The band hasn’t played in months. Jensen should tune his guitar and practice his vocal range. Tristan was in the middle of teaching him techniques to hold notes for a longer duration of time. There were lessons about control, breath support, and airflow. The modifications of vowels. Correct posture.

Working and preparing for the holidays hasn’t exactly left Jensen with much free time. At least Misha and Jared were able to put up the tree Thanksgiving weekend, and Jeff has been slowly adding more decorations to every surface of their home.

Christmas is going to be good this year. Jared and Jensen agreed sit down with the guys after Santa visits, and talk about a new addition to Christmas next year.

Jensen eases into Jared’s nursing chair. Bailey holds onto him like glue.

Exhaustion settles in his feet, hips, and shoulders. Peak season at UPS means more work, but it also means more pay, more overtime, and better checks to bring home.

Cacophony from the kids’ room starts to die down as Jared must have either bribed the girls into going back to sleep or the girls are in the process of staging a coup. The house resumes its typical stillness before dawn. In an hour, Misha will be up to make breakfast.

“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living,” Jensen says with a yawn. “I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.”

He’ll clock in about seventy hours of work this week, split almost evenly between the garden and UPS.

“It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.”

Without a second of hesitation, he’d work a hundred more hours to alleviate the unspoken burden on Bailey’s shoulders.

Jared stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his hair in pigtails the girls must have insisted on making, his pajamas wrinkled and a clip on earring stuck to his left ear. He stands as still as a sycamore tree on a day without wind.

“It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have,” Jensen murmurs, his voice a rumble and a song. “I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.”

Looks like it will be sooner rather than later that the adults come together to talk the D-word.

It’s not the first place on earth Jensen would enjoy visiting. In fact, going back is sure to dredge up a host of painful memories for all parties over the age of seven involved. Emotional hurt. Physical hurt. The injustice of being fired by the Happiest Place on Earth. Knowing that inside the costumes are overworked and underpaid people, and behind the smiles are hollow, empty promises.

Still.

Jensen will go because that’s what Jared and the guys do day after day. There’s no such thing as perfect parenting. Showing up means they’re doing it right.

If Jensen has to stand in line for an hour just to go on Dumbo the Flying Elephant and have cotton candy smeared all over his face and pay way too much for snacks--he’ll do it.

These are his kids. Their kids.

Five in the morning turns into six in the morning.

Bailey relaxes. Jared carefully, silently walks over to take Bailey back to bed.

Before Jensen hands Bailey over, they both hear the tired, worn down words tumble out from Bailey.

“Daddy… I wan’ be a princess.”

The last stanza of the poem hits Jensen like a punch to his gut.

_I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments._

With kids, everything is a first.

**Author's Note:**

> hellooooo! great to jump back into this verse! thank you to my betas T and D for their help! i don't have kids, so i'm really hoping i wrote the kids okay. 
> 
> thank you all for being here. <3 i'm still on the road to a liver transplant, and can no longer work full-time. if you'd like to visit me outside of AO3, i'm at compo67.tumblr.com.


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